Among the myriad of memories I’ve accumulated over 60 years of covering the Augusta Masters, these stand out:
▪ Seeing the great Bobby Jones, creator of Augusta National Golf Club and the Masters, sitting on a hill in a golf cart in the 1950s, looking down on what he had given the world.
▪ Jack Nicklaus winning his sixth at the age of 46 in 1986 when we thought his time had passed. His son, Jackie, caddied for him and his mom, who hadn’t been to a Masters in years, was there.
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▪ Ben Crenshaw, overcome with emotion and crying in 1995, after he won his second Masters, which he dedicated to his friend and tutor Harvey Penick, who had died a week earlier.
▪ Roberto De Vicenzo, after signing for a 66 in the final round when he had shot a 65 and thereby falling out of a tie for the 1968 championship, shaking his head and saying, “What a stupid I am.” That was a dark moment in the glorious history of the event.
▪ Magnolia Lane, the entrance to the club, lined with 150-year old trees, inviting you into a golfing paradise where history abounds in flowery splendor.